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by Cordelia_Sun



Category: Farscape
Genre: Canon-Typical Complete Lack of God Damn Respect for Crichton's Physical and Psychological Boundaries, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Tag, Hallucinations, M/M, Season/Series 03, canon-typical weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia_Sun/pseuds/Cordelia_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Episode tag for Into the Lion's Den Pt1.</p><p>The I-Yensch bracelet gives John a taste of what Scorpius has in mind for him; he reacts in his usual calm and levelheaded manner...</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for Livejournal TVU Challenge 7x16 - Quotable.

“Even without wormholes, Earth is reachable. At top speed…” Scorpius leans down to speak and his breath is hot against John’s skin, “just over sixty cycles.”

John struggles against the powerful grip pinning him to the table and, for a brief moment, manages to break free, but Scorpius’ superior strength prevails and he’s slammed down again with a sickening thump. A whorl of pain spirals out from his jaw and he tastes blood on his lips.

“You give me what I want…” Scorpius snarls into his ear, “or I swear…I will keep you alive so that you can witness your home world's destruction!”

John looks up at the spinning vision of Earth. It’s beautiful; a brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness. The one beacon of hope he has left.

He tries to remain calm, but something inside is being stretched taut and too tight and he’s taken just about as much as he can handle.

John struggles under Scorpius’ fierce grip; legs kicking and feet scraping against the floor. He manages to twist out of his hands; falls to the floor with a heavy thump and rolls on to his back. A mistake. Scorpius kicks him hard in the ribs and John screams and curls up in agony. Scorpius breathes out sharply, briefly clutching his side as the I-Yensch bracelet reflects John’s pain back on him, but the half-Scarran knows pain—lives in pain—and shrugs off the sensations while John is still writhing on the floor.

Scorpius steps over John’s supine body and sinks down, pinning him to the floor, gripping him by the collar.

“I've been searching for someone like you for a very long time,” he says, his words are a vicious spitting hiss in John’s face, “you are the key John Crichton. I will have what I want from you and out of your suffering…will rise my victory.“

“I’m not afraid of you,” John lies through gritted teeth.

“Ah, but you should be.”

John rolls his head back, desperate to twist away from the face pressed too close to him, and he fights to contain the terror threatening to overwhelm him. He’s tired and he hurts; he can’t remember a time when he didn’t hurt.

He's become increasingly aware, since being connected to Scorpius, of constant pain; hot, raw and bone deep. He thought he couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live like that all the time, but he doesn’t have to imagine. He knows. It took so long to notice Scorpy's pain and John realises he's simply added it to the crushing ache that he feels in his chest almost all the time now.

And that ache in his chest is starting to swell, boiling up like lava, and John desperately wants to let it out. All he wants is to throw his head back and scream out his misery, but he holds it in; afraid that if he starts he'll never stop.

The body holding him to the floor, pressed hard against him, is hot—Scorpius throws out heat like a furnace—and suddenly he’s aware of it with every nerve in his body. He’s aware of the heat, the powerful grip, the familiar scent of leather and the unfamiliar body contact.

His mind snaps to Aeryn and a stab of pain rips through his stomach; is this how she feels under his hot touch? Memories pour into his mind; her cold stare, her distance, her refusal to touch him...to see him. The dark accusing eyes that bore into him, full of rage, as if his mere existence is an offence she can’t forgive.

An aching shudder thrums through his body. A carnal craving. He’s not prepared for it and the shock leaves him breathless. It pushes him over the edge. He cries out, screaming in horror at his body’s betrayal.

It comes to him in a flash; this feeling—this hot white lust—it’s coming from Scorpius.

The cries descend into laughter and John bucks and screams—hysterical and uncontrolled—under Scorpius’ iron grip.

And he laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs.

Well here’s a solution he hadn’t considered…he screams out his heart to the universe.

“At least somebody wants me!”

 

***

 

_Soft falls of ivory silk, figure hugging and clingy in wildly interesting places, swish gracefully with each step along the aisle and, though the veil obscures his vision, his breath still catches at the extraordinary sight before him._

_“You look ravishing my dear.”_

_“What the hell! Harvey?” John steps up to the altar and rips the veil away from his face._

_“This is your party John, you tell me?” Harvey spreads his hands, protesting his innocence. Beside them a minister begins to mumble the words to the marriage ceremony._

_“Hey, I’m not the one getting off on pinning me down and having his wicked way with me.”_

_“It’s the power,” says Harvey, smiling beatifically as he reaches out for John, pulling him towards him as he gazes deep into his eyes, “it’s always about the power with Scorpius. And you fascinate him so. It’s an intoxicating mixture.”_

_“I’ll bet it is.” John slaps Harvey away, grabs the book from the minister’s hands and flings it down the aisle._

_“You’d make a great team, John, under different circumstances. And you do look really quite fetching in that dress.”_

_“You're a real Prince Charming, Harvey.”_

_“And you are a desperate soul.” Harvey studies him seriously and takes his hand again, stroking it with gentle concern, “right now you are pinned down, in more ways than one, and you are about to lose it. You have to get in control John. You have to figure out what you want.”_

_“I just want to be happy,” John sighs and twists out of Harvey's grip to scrub at his face with his hands; he knows how fatuous he sounds._

_“Ah!” Harvey’s face splits into a knife-like smile and he shakes his head, “belief in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing. But you have to be rational, John. You need to face reality.”_

_“Screw reality, “ John snarls as he grabs Harvey by the lapels of his tux and screams into his face, “and why am I the one in the god damn dress!”_

 

***

 

And he’s back in the room.

And he’s not screaming anymore.

He’s spent his hysteria and his throat is rough and sore. The rage remains. He tastes blood on his tongue and it pools in the back of his throat. He fights the urge to spit in Scorpius’ face; that’s not gonna help right now. Instead he lets it bubble from his lips and feels the warmth as it trickles thick and sticky down his cheek.

Scorpy still straddles him—pinning him down with his body—pressed against him hot and hard. He hisses into John’s face and his reflected arousal is overwhelming. He’s so close. John feels the heat from his skin and can almost taste the surprising floral scent of his breath.

John blows him a kiss.

Scorpius snakes out his tongue in response and John feels it’s firm tip tickle the sensitive skin of his lip as Scorpius runs it across his bloodied mouth.

Tasting him.

John stays absolutely still; terrified of what Scorpy will do if he moves or if he notices his treacherous body’s reaction.

He doesn’t want this.

“Is this it Scorpy?” he says, his voice frays at the edges with a nervous giggle, “This what it’s all been about; how the saviour gets to taste my forbidden fruit?”

“I’m not a saviour John, but you could be. John, please…I must be able to report success or Grayza will scrap my wormhole project and soon…the Scarrans will rule. Half. This. Galaxy!” Scorpius leans back a little and sighs, “Always a villain, even when I'm not. I just want to prevent a war, John. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

“You sure about that Scorpy Sue?” John grins at him, “I think you’re suffering from a little heartbreak and a touch of self loathing and I’m just some drunk in a bar with a tattoo.”

“Ha-hem,”

John turns toward the sound beside them, but Scorpius keeps his attention on John. Braca stands by the console; eyes fixed on Scorpius as he holds John to the floor. He looks ghostly bathed in the blue light of the projected Earth. He stance is stiff, but John detects a slight quiver in his body and Braca's lip twitches into a tight little smile. John has no idea how long he’s been standing here, but reckons he’s been enjoying the show.

“Braca?” Scorpius acknowledges his presence calmly, still looking at John.

“We have received an urgent message from Commandant Grayza,” he says, “coded to you personally.”

“Have we now?” Scorpius kneels back and smiles up at Braca, baring his teeth, “well, we must see what she has to say.”

“Sir.”

Scorpius lifts himself up from John in a smooth movement and walks slowly out of the room. John lies back, gasping with relief, and runs his tongue over his bloodied teeth. In a fit of spite he smacks his head against the floor; the grunt of pain from Scorpius as he walks away makes it worth the sickening agony in his own head.

Braca stays behind and watches John with open contempt as he lifts himself up from the floor.

“I'm going to guess you don't have a very high opinion of me,” says John as he steps up close to Braca and treats him to a wide manic grin.

“It'd be hard to have a lower one,” says Braca with a smirk.

“Well at least you got to see our strange little show.” John leers at him, “I hope you enjoyed it.”

“I’ve seen stranger.”

“I’ll bet you have.”

John holds Braca’s gaze, smiles and bites his lip. He fights the urge to plant a wet, bloody kiss on his smug face. Instead he rubs his wrist under the I-Yensch bracelet and tries to ignore the dull pain in his bones. Then he shakes his head and walks out with a nervy giggle.

He realises things have gone too far now. Out of control. It was a mistake to come here and he’s pretty sure he isn’t getting out alive. What he should do is cut and run; grab Aeryn and the others and get the hell away from here as fast as they can.

But he knows he can’t do that.

A plan begins to crystallise in his mind. It’s drastic. Over the top and way over the line. He pauses briefly in the passageway and licks the blood from his lips.

“I don’t run from monsters,” he thinks, “they run from me.”

 


End file.
